I was in the airport getting ready to board a plane when I saw the news about Robin Williams’ death. I gasped and clapped my hand to my mouth to muffle my groaning, “No!!!!”
I was so shocked and terribly saddened to see that light go out.
Then I kept watching the TV Screen. Suspected suicide. History of depression.
“But,” people say, “he was so funny…so…happy…how could he be depressed?”
Oh, I know exactly how to be funny and depressed. That is my life.
I smile and laugh and joke because, well, I think I have a knack at being funny, of course. But also? I gotta find some way to cope with this damn depression.
Because blackness, dark, dark, dark gets really old and grows very heavy. So I make light of whatever I can whenever I can.
Pluswhich, I think my depression rather skews my take on the world such that I’m just a little quicker to spot life’s little ironies and hilarities. And caring is sharing, so I say the funny things and get the laugh.
Everybody likes that person.
The dark of “what’s the point of getting up today?” just doesn’t go over as well at the old church potluck.
That time I actually thought, “I just want to go throw myself down the stairs,” doesn’t really come up in polite conversation, no matter how nice people are.
And I promise you, the funny girl thing is not an act. I really am that funny. I’m not pretending when you see me smiling and laughing. That is genuine Jennifer.
I don’t hide the depression so much as I just try with all my might to ignore the hell out of it when I can muster it.
And when I can’t muster it, those are usually the times I am not even around other people because I’m just trying to survive until the next minute.
I don’t claim to speak for Mr. Williams and what he experienced. There’s already too much speculation about everything related to his death.
But when people are puzzled that humor and depression can be so intwined, I can offer my own experience as a “case study.” Damn it.
Jennifer Clark Tinker 